In conflict what is stirred
is fear that we might choose the wrong
and, living, loving, turn to bitterness
through disbelief. The song
is hollow in the whisper heard
by broken shadows, which, fractured, long
for right to cleanse and heal
through scars that ache and scream
But which is worse?
The sacrifice which lets us know
a sacrifice was made?
(And yet we leave…)
to live within the world
the sacrifice would save
and, bitter, grieve?